


It Usually Happened Around Eight

by Djinnaat



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djinnaat/pseuds/Djinnaat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when boundaries between two people start to get blurred?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It usually happened around 8:00 or so. After a long day at the FBI, then a couple of hours in the Archives, the kinks and knots in Abbie’s shoulders turned into a full-fledged ache. The tension crept up into her head, causing a throbbing in her head that threatened to ruin her concentration. That and Crane mumbling, as usual, about some spell or incantation that he was looking for.

“Crane, um, do you have to go on about that? Really?” she said as she rubbed her neck and the side of her head. “I’ve got a raging headache, my neck and back are killing me, and I would just love a few moments of silence, if you don’t mind.”

Ichabod stopped for a moment; he knew when she was in this frame of mind, it was best if he acquiesced to her demands. Plus, he hated seeing his partner and friend in pain.

“Of course, Lieutenant, my sincerest apologies. May I get you something from the apothecary cabinet?” he added, turning towards the First Aid kit.

Abbie smiled through the pain. He was really sweet to her, even when she was grumpy with him. 

“No, thanks, Crane, I’ll be okay. I might get something when we get home.”

Cocking his head to the side, Ichabod considered his Lieutenant for a moment. Back during the war, his comrades had always been appreciative of the palliative effect of his back and shoulder rubs; his long fingers, strong arms, and flexible joints were perfect for getting in between the kinks and knots that so often plagued the men who were battling enemies both seen and unseen. Taking a chance, he walked over to Abbie, flexing his fingers.

“Miss Mills, might I have a look at your shoulders? I have been told that I have a certain knack for working out the tension that so many of my comrades-in-arms suffered during the war. Perhaps I can help?” he added, a sincere and concerned look shining from his light blue eyes.

Abbie was still seated at one of the high tables; she stopped reading, and he could see the conflict if her eyes: do I let him touch me? Is this a good idea? As the warring emotions played across her lovely face, Ichabod stood stock still, as if she were a frightened doe that he had come across and did not want to scare away.

Finally, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and said, “Sure, Crane, I would appreciate that. Thanks.”

He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath. Why should it mean so much to him? It wasn’t as if this would be the first time he had ever touched her, or any other woman, for goodness sake. Before he had a chance to further analyze his hesitancy, he came up behind Abbie and gently placed a hand on either shoulder.

“Lieutenant, I would appreciate your help in ascertaining the correct pressure. I am accustomed, or was, rather, to rubbing the shoulders and backs of far sturdier individuals, and never ladies. I have been told I have quite a great deal of strength in my fingers and hands, and the last thing I want to do is exacerbate your suffering.”

Abbie smiled and sighed softly as Ichabod began to lightly knead her throbbing shoulders. 

“Thank you, Crane, I’ll make sure to let you know, but I’m not made of glass, you know! I’m a lot heartier than you give me credit for. In fact,” she added slyly, “if you don’t rub harder, I’m going to think you’re trying to tickle me instead.”

Responding to her teasing tone, Ichabod lifted an eyebrow and smirking, replied, “Ah, now I know your secret, Lieutenant. I would have never thought you ticklish, but now that I know, I will surely feel compelled to utilize this bit of knowledge in a more… fitting environment.”

Abbie turned to glare at him, wishing she could wipe that supercilious look off his admittedly handsome face.

“Crane, do you remember when we first met?” she said sweetly, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Ichabod’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Of course, Miss Mills, it was one of the most unforgettable moments of either of my lives, and furthermore,” he continued, lifting his chin slightly, peering at her somewhat smugly, “even had it not been such a momentous occasion, you forget I have an eidetic memory.”

Oh, how she hated it when he did that. But she would turn the tables on him soon enough…

“Well,” she continued, batting her eyelashes coquettishly at him, “ do you remember what I said to you at the time?”

Puzzled, Crane shrugged slightly. “Well, you said many things…”

Abruptly, Abbie interrupted him, jabbing her finger into his chest.

“I told you I would shoot you, and by God, if you even LOOK like you are going to try to tickle me…” she trailed off, glaring at him like an angry cat.

Ichabod’s eyes grew wide before shaking his head and smiling sheepishly at Abbie.

“And I believe you would, eternal bond or no,” he added, looking fondly at this wonderful creature. How on earth had he managed before he met her?

“All right,” he said decisively, “Back to work. Eyes straight ahead, shoulders back, soldier. I have just begun to work my magic.”

Abbie gave Ichabod a mock dirty look; she really wasn’t mad at him, but she had to keep him in line! She then turned back in her chair and leaned forward, brushing her curls to the side to expose the nape of her neck for Crane’s ministrations. Seems those long fingers WERE good for something after all… Before her mind could stray further, she exhaled deeply, Ichabod’s strong hands draining some of the day’s hurt and stress away. His hands really were magic, she thought.

Before she could stifle it, a soft, low moan escaped her throat. Truth be told, Ichabod was probably enjoying the massage more than Abbie at this point; although they were physical with one another, it was rare that he had the opportunity to touch her for any extended period of time. And when she swept her hair aside for him, exposing the soft skin of her neck, he almost came undone. God’s wounds, he thought, the nape of a neck is enough to have him sweating like an overly anxious schoolboy! Get yourself together, man, he thought. 

Abbie, for her part, stiffened slightly when it happened. Oh, my gosh, she thought, I sound like I’m having sex, not getting a massage. She didn’t really feel the slight hesitation in Crane’s hands when it came out because of her own embarrassment.

As Ichabod continued, Abbie felt herself relaxing more and more into his touch. It was truly hypnotic. Before she could think about it, she said softly, “Harder, Crane.” Although a part of her mind thought she should be ashamed of herself with the low, husky tone that accompanied her request, she was too far gone to care. She had had back and shoulder rubs before, but this man was GOOD. It amazed her the strength in those arms and hands; she knew well enough he was stronger than his tall, somewhat lanky figure suggested, but despite the somewhat harsh sound of his breathing, she didn’t think he was working up a sweat at all.

As he continued massaging her shoulders, he had rubbed up to the spot where her hair met her neck; he lightly pressed against the chords of her neck that were stretched taut, savoring the feel of her silky, soft skin. He was close enough to smell her hair dressing, a combination of the coconut oil he had seen her use, as well as some exotic flowers in her shampoo. He always enjoyed getting dressed after her, because it meant the air was redolent with her scent, and as he showered and dressed, he was surrounded by the fresh scent of her hair, her skin, and something else that was unidentifiable, but intensely her. 

After working some of the kinks out of her neck, he had let his hands glide back to her shoulders, then under the sleeves of her t-shirt to massage the muscles in her upper arms. Granted, he could have massaged them through her clothing, but he somehow convinced himself that this way would be more beneficial for her…

As she rolled her head from side to side, flexing the muscles that were slowly relaxing under his care, eyes closed, she allowed herself to block out anything but his touch. The warmth of his hands. His breath stirring her hair. The feel of her heart pounding. Truth be told, she was enjoying this far more than she dared admit. It wasn’t that he never touched her, but never for so long, and never so intimately. His long fingers dug into the recalcitrant muscles, forcing them to surrender and relax. She didn’t miss the fact that from time to time his hands would slip under her shirt, either onto her bare arms, or lower, where her shirt had ridden up in the back as she leaned over the desk.

By this point, Abbie was fully leaning onto the desk, her head resting on her folded arms, as Ichabod ran his hands up and down her spine, vertebra by vertebra. It was wicked, yes, and decadent, yes, but the feel of his hands on her bare skin was too wonderful to deny. Heck, life was short enough, she thought, so why not enjoy the little things?

Ichabod continued to massage Abbie both through the thin cotton of her shirt, and then he grew more daring by allowing his hands to catch the material at the bottom of the garment, lifting it from her skin to allow him better access to her body. He knew he should be scandalized by treating Miss Mills in such an ungentlemanly manner, practically caressing her bare back, all the way up to the edge of her undergarment, but he couldn’t feel anything beyond the breath catching in his throat and his heart beating like a wild creature in his chest. He was completely intoxicated by her soft, warm skin, the smooth muscles flexing under his hands, and the soft sighs and moans that escaped her lovely lips.

“Oh, Crane,” she breathed out, “that feels so good. I can’t believe I’m just now letting you do this.”

Ichabod, to his credit, didn’t skip a beat, but the combination of her words, her breathy, low tone, and her complete submission to his touch nearly brought him to his knees. He couldn’t even find the voice to answer her and only kept up his strong manipulation of her back muscles. She couldn’t see the light sheen of sweat on his brow, not brought about by exertion, but by his overwhelming desire to do so much more to his beloved Lieutenant. For so long, he had longed to touch her like this. Skin to skin. The only sound in the room the sound of their heavy breathing. The low moans that issued from those delectable lips. The feeling that his loins had taken up residence in every cell of his body, and all that existed was his passion for this woman.

He didn’t know what time it was, and he didn’t care. He didn’t even know what century he was in. All that existed was Abbie. She was his Grace and his grace. Time had no meaning. Place had no meaning. All that existed in the world was this divine being melting under his touch. All that mattered was the connection between him and this wonder. He knew at some point he would have to stop, but the thought of not touching her for one second was torture. For a split second, he thought of the other men in her life: Danny Reynolds, Luke Morales, even Andy Brooks. The thought of any of their hands on HIS Abigail caused him to press a little harder, drawing a soft “oomph” from her. Shaking himself from his daydream, he allowed himself to again start a steady rhythm, hands gliding up past her bra strap, all the way to her shoulder, then back to just under the waistband of her trousers.

Abbie was so caught up in her massage that she felt like she was floating. It wasn’t until Crane pressed a little harder than normal that she came to her senses. It felt like they had been at this for hours, when it had probably been not quite half an hour.

“Crane, I think that’s good. Thank you,” she added, rolling her shoulders backwards and forwards. “I haven’t felt this loose in years. This was amazing!” she added, turning to him with a smile. Her smile dimmed slightly as she saw the look on her partner’s face. She had caught glimpses of it from time to time, but he always shuttered the look before she could really say for sure what she saw. But he didn’t catch it quickly enough. His face was slightly flushed with a light sheen of sweat on his brow, but his EYES. She had never seen his eyes quite like this. The irises were blown wide open, and in the soft light of the Archives, they looked like a deep, black night. His lips, always a tempting pink (if she did say so herself), were a deep rose. She dared not look any further than his face for fear of what else she might discover.

“Ichabod, are you okay?” she queried, concern etched on her lovely face. “You look… odd.”

Mentally shaking himself, Ichabod schooled his features into an unreadable mask. “No, Miss Mills, I am quite well, thank you. I trust your back and shoulders are more relaxed?” 

Still looking in his eyes, Abbie nodded and smiled. “I think you missed your calling, Crane. If the demon-killing doesn’t work out for you, you could have a line out the door of people waiting for that!” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. It worked, and Crane’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he grinned, dipping his head and looking up at her through his thick lashes.

“That is too kind of you, Lieutenant. You know that I am always at your service,” he added, bowing slightly.

With the mood lighter, and her head even lighter still, Abbie turned, still smiling, and went back to her reading. Ichabod stood looking at her for a moment before returning to his studies as well.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When boundaries start to dissipate and emotions begin to surface.

They didn’t talk about the massage that night when they returned home, but there was a certain tension in the air. They were both much more aware of each other than usual. They sat in companionable silence as they ate dinner, leftover stew Abbie had fixed that weekend (and that just happened to be Ichabod’s favorite dish – it reminded him of simpler times growing up, when he would play with the servants’ children and stay for dinner at one of their homes, sitting by their hearth, basking in the warmth of the fire and their loving smiles, for they doted on the Master’s youngest boy). Afterwards, they played their nightly game of chess, with Ichabod handily mastering Abbie, although both were still somewhat preoccupied. As they sat sipping their beer, each sensed something had fundamentally changed between them. There had always been an awareness, from the day their eyes met in the Sleepy Hollow jail, but never the physicality that had taken place between them earlier.

“Well, I think I shall retire, Miss Mills,” Ichabod said, stretching slightly and yawning. “Tomorrow is Friday, and I know you have one more day in your work week, so I am sure you will be retiring soon as well."

Abbie sat on the couch, her beer bottle in hand. “Yeah, I think you’re right. It is getting late…” she added, her voice trailing off. She was still thinking about that incredible massage earlier, and hoping that was only one of many. Downing the last of her bottle, she stood and smiled at her partner.

“Thanks for everything, Crane, I mean it. You were right; your hands ARE magic.” Smiling somewhat shyly, she patted him on the arm, disposed of their bottles, and left him standing in the middle of the living room.

The next day, they both awoke later than usual, neither of them having been able to sleep well. Abbie kept having these dreams, the kind that you didn’t tell anyone about, where Crane was doing more than massaging her shoulders. In fact, she could barely look him in the eye once they got dressed and came downstairs for breakfast. As she busied herself cracking eggs in the skillet and buttering toast, Ichabod came downstairs and poured himself a cup of coffee, liberally adding sugar to his cup.

“I thought I told you about eating so much sugar, Crane,” Abbie teased, thankful for something to alleviate the tension that seemed to follow them since yesterday’s encounter in the Archives.

Smiling, Ichabod reaches over and grabs two more sugar packets. “While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, I will have you know I am fit as a fiddle and very well-maintained for my age,” he quipped, arching one dark eyebrow. “Most men would kill to be as spry as I am at 260 or so years of age.”

As they both laughed, smiling at each other affectionately, they began their day with everything seemingly back to normal. Abbie dropped Ichabod off at the Archives with the promise of pizza and beer tonight (complete with Ichabod’s new favorite dessert, chocolate lava cakes), and he got to choose the movie this week. It was their routine, when not actively involved in fighting the monster of the week, to order food on Friday night and, while not necessarily Netflix and Chill, eat food that was bad for them, drink a little too much (the beer was just the beginning, followed by wine and sometimes rum or whisky), and watch movies until the wee hours of the morning. Oftentimes, they were so tired they ended up curling up on opposite ends of the sofa, with one having thrown a throw or blanket over the other before falling asleep. It was a very companionable existence, and it gave each of them a sense of belonging and home that was very fulfilling.

Before that, though, there was still business to conduct in the Archives. After leaving the office around 4:30, Abbie drove straight to the Archives.

“Hey, Crane, what’s up? How was your day?” she asked, grabbing a leftover donut from this morning. Man, she thought, I don’t know where this guy puts it. He’s still a stringbean and has a killer smile, but he eats every sweet in sight. I would hate to be his pancreas or his teeth, she thought.

Looking up from the tomes spread in front of him, Ichabod graced Abbie with a warm smile. “Very well, thank you, Lieutenant. Very productive. And yourself? How did you fare today?”

Coming around to stand by the high desk where he was seated, Abbie leaned against the desk, sighing softly. “Well, you know, we don’t exactly see the cream of society in our business, but all in all, I think it should be quiet this weekend.”

Crane chuckled softly. “Don’t say that, dear Lieutenant, for I fear you will, how do they say, jinx us?” he added, eyes twinkling.

Abbie laughed in response. “Who are you telling? You’re right, I will keep my mouth shut!”

As they chatted amicably for a few minutes, Abbie suddenly winced. Ichabod rose quickly from his chair in response.

“Abbie, what’s wrong?” he asked, plainly concerned.

Frowning, Abbie rolled her shoulders, her discomfort etched in her pinched expression.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was working on reports all day, and you know how it is when you’ve been hunched over a computer all day. Everything gets knotted up,” she added, her voice trailing off as she continued to roll her aching shoulders.

Taking her by the arm, Ichabod seated her in his chair. “Miss Mills, allow me to minister to you today. It seemed to be quite efficacious yesterday, and it appears that you are in need of some assistance.”

If he were honest with himself, he had been trying to think of an excuse to repeat last night’s scenario. He had replayed it over and over again in his mind as he lay in bed last night, his eidetic memory allowing him to perfectly repeat every sound that escaped from her lips, the scent of her hair and skin, and the feel of her soft, pliant body. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of her, his dreams made even more vivid by his having been able to touch her for a much more prolonged period of time than usual. 

Abbie pursed her lips slightly, wondering if this was such a good idea. Of course, it had felt heavenly, and a part of her was cheering, saying “bring it on!” but the more rational part of her was like, oh, Abbie, you are playing with fire. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that they were very aware of each other, and being young (well, relatively, she thought with a smile) and healthy people, and relatively attractive as well, it was normal in those circumstances to feel a certain pull. But they had always kept those demons at bay, just as successfully as the actual demons that threatened to kill them on a regular basis. Still, it had felt SO good…

Decisively, she took off her ubiquitous leather jacket and gun and holster. She shifted in the chair, folding her arms on the table in front of her and resting her head on her arms as she had last night.

“Okay, Crane, let’s see some magic, then. I told you, you could make a living off this,” she quipped, then let out a soft sigh.

Flexing his fingers, Ichabod started again by lifting her hair off the nape of her neck and softly rubbing the soft skin just below her hairline. He loved her hair; when they first met, it was much like that of any woman he had known in his day, straight and silky, but when she returned from the Catacombs, she began to wear what he learned was her natural hair. It fascinated him the way she could stretch her hair out and then release it, with the hair returning to a perfect coil. He had had many occasions to touch it; he knew it was not proper etiquette to touch just anyone, but owing to their friendship, living arrangement, and frequent dangerous situations, he had even combed, brushed and washed her hair (the thought of what she went through upon returning from her ordeal, and the subsequent nurturing he, her sister, and Master Corbin had lavished on her, still haunted him).

Moving to her shoulders, he again allowed his hands to drift under her shirt to massage her upper arms. It amazed him how small she was; with his fingers stretched out, they encompassed her back from one side to the other. She never ceased to amaze him: so small and delicate, yet strong and sturdy. Much stronger than he, if he were to be honest. He couldn’t believe this wonder had come into his life. As his hands drifted over her small frame, drawing soft moans and sighs from his beautiful Lieutenant, he thought, of all the wonders he had witnessed in this time, none compared to the splendor that was Grace Abigail Mills.

He let his hands drift under her thin cotton shirt as he had last night; in his day, this would have been the height of impropriety. Even in this age, it was not something one did, he imagined, with just anyone. Still, they had been through so much together, he felt comfortable touching her in this manner, and he honestly wanted to help her. She had gone through so much in her life, anything he could do to bring a little joy, or comfort, or happiness to her was worthwhile. His thumb pressed against her spine, one vertebra at a time, until he had worked his way from nigh unto her tailbone all the way up to the base of her neck. She shifted slightly, turning her head to rest her other cheek on her folded arms. She looked so peaceful, he thought, it made his heart somewhat lighter. That he could do anything to bring her a modicum of peace made him happy.

He worked his way down to her waist, where he massaged the sides of her waist and upper hips. She was so quiet, he almost thought she had fallen asleep. But when he looked at her, he found her looking off into the distance, a faint smile on her lovely lips. It brought a smile to his face, and he continued for the next few minutes in silence. Finally, Abbie sat up and turned to him, a relaxed, happy look on her face.

“That was still awesome, Crane! I think this is my new favorite thing in the world!” she exclaimed happily, stretching her arms and flexing her back from side to side. “I say we head out early, I’ll order the pizza, and we start the evening with a bang.”

Ichabod’s smile went to a full-on grin with her words of praise, her wishes for the evening, and most of all, the look on her face. He would give anything to keep that glint in her eye and spring in her step.

After picking up the pizza and dessert they ordered online, they drove to the house in companionable silence, lost in their respective thoughts. So much was the same between them, but yet different. There was always an ease between them, with a hint of sexual tension. Yet now, it seemed that they had come to a fork in the road; which path would they take?

When they arrived at home, after putting the food on the dining room table, they went and changed from their work clothes, Abbie into a comfy t-shirt and bike shorts, Ichabod into a t-shirt and sweatpants. They then settled in with their pizza, chocolate cake, and a new craft beer they had wanted to try.

“Well, Crane, what movie are we watching? I chose last week, so it was up to you for this week,” she said, moving her feet onto the sofa. 

Leaning back, Ichabod smiled at his partner and crooked an eyebrow. “So, you had talked me into that zombie film; I propose a different sort of monster this week. We have not seen vampires recently.”

Abbie had to laugh. “Vampires, huh? I’m surprised you chose such a sexy monster, Crane. Talk about subtext! Okay, which one do we watch?”

Still smirking, Ichabod flipped through the Netflix list. “This Queen of the Damned looks intriguing. What do you think?” he asked, turning to Abbie.

Nodding, Abbie pointed to the control. “Sure, put that on. I had heard of it, but I’ve never seen it. I know the actress in the movie tragically died during the filming, in a plane accident, but I just started watching that kind of movie since you came,” she added, shrugging slightly.

As they sat in companionable silence, Abbie would from time to time steal glances at her roommate-slash-partner. It still amazed her how they had come to meet each other, even after all these years. The thought that a man born in the 1700’s was sitting on her sofa, guzzling craft beer, noshing on pepperoni pizza, and rubbing her feet… wait a minute, Crane is rubbing my feet, she thought!

What puzzled her the most was that she had become so accustomed to his touch, it didn’t even register at first. As she relaxed into his warm caress, she sighed softly and closed her eyes.

“Crane, you gotta stop spoiling me,” she said, her voice husky and soft. “I could really get used to this!” she exclaimed, smiling.

Ichabod didn’t pause in his ministrations or even look over at her, just softly running his palm over her bare shin. “Miss Mills, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this as much, or perhaps more than you.”

Settling back against the cushions of the sofa, he continued softly. “You must realize that I am a man alone in this time. You, and a very few people I have met have helped me feel at home, and I am most grateful. Indeed, I feel more at home here, in this abode, with you, than I have ever felt in any place, in any time.”

“Yet, despite this, I am still a human being like any other. I crave affection, tenderness, like any man. So just as my humble ministrations allow you a respite from some of your stress and discomfort, they alleviate a void in my heart and soul: the need for a human connection.”

Abbie looked at her friend with unshed tears in her eyes. How often she focused on their differences; his way of speaking and of thinking, his outmoded dress and mores, they all hid a heart and soul no different than her own. How lonely he must feel, she thought.

Standing, she held up a hand to her friend. “Crane, get up,” she commanded. “Come here.”

Standing, a perplexed look on his face, Crane reached for her outstretched hand. “My apologies, Lieutenant, I did not mean to upset you…” his voice trailing off as she stepped into his arms and buried her face in his chest. “Lieutenant, I assure you, this is not what I meant…”

Murmuring into his chest, Abbie replied, “I know, Crane, I know. And don’t think I’m doing this because I feel sorry for you. Well, that I don’t feel sorry for you any more than I do myself…” she trailed off pensively. “I feel lonely, too, or at least I did until you came along.”

Smiling, Ichabod held Abbie closer, reveling in her warm embrace, the fragrance that followed her that he loved so much, the softness of her hair as he buried his nose in her soft curls.

“You remember that film we saw a few months ago, the other vampire film you liked so much?” he queried softly. “I often think of what he said, and it is true of us, also, Lieutenant. I, too, have crossed oceans of time to find you,” he said softly, rubbing his hand softly up and down her back.

Abbie stilled in his arms for a moment. What was he trying to tell her? She often felt like his declarations sounded more like wedding vows than simple exclamations of appreciation of an esteemed partner. And this? Speaking of a great love that transcended time and death? No, she wouldn’t read anything into it. Yeah, Abbie, she thought, just keep thinking that.

Ichabod felt her slightly stiffen in his arms and wondered if he had gone too far. As much as his feelings had deepened towards Abbie, he valued her friendship and respect far too much to alienate her. Truth be told, he was incredibly happy with the time he spent with her, both working and at home, and he especially enjoyed this newfound closeness that they shared. 

“Abbie, thank you. I’m fine, really. And we’re missing this wonderful movie, as well as letting our pizza get cold. We can’t have cold pizza and warm beer, after all!” he exclaimed cheerfully, attempting to lighten the mood. He looked down fondly at his Lieutenant, still in his arms.

Chuckling softly, Abbie looked up, the tense moment all but forgotten. She cheekily grinned up at him, cocking her head to the side. “My friend, you haven’t lived until you have dined on cold pizza!” she exclaimed, grinning broadly. Taking his hand, they settled back down on the sofa, each smiling happily.

Later, after the second movie (they each said they were too wound up to call it a night), Ichabod looked over to see Abbie curled up next to him. She looked so small and dainty, he thought, and so vulnerable. His heart ached when he thought, as he did so many times, of all this woman had endured. Abandoned by her father, losing her mother in such a horrendous manner, and alienated from her sister for so long. The fact that she was still standing never ceased to amaze him; the tribulations she had endured, both natural and supernatural, would have brought most people to their knees.

He sat considering her for a long time; finally, he decided to do something different. Quietly, he slipped behind her on the sofa, covering them both with the fluffy throw they kept for their Friday night “sleepovers,” and wrapped his arms around her. She barely stirred except to let out a contented sigh and snuggle deeper into his embrace. Soon, he joined her in slumber, sweet dreams visiting them both during the night.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief little slice of life, the calm before the storm... before it gets REALLY real...

Abbie woke to a nice, warm feeling, like she was cocooned in a warm blanket. She starts when she realizes the warm blanket includes an even warmer Crane. Slowly, she turns in his embrace, wondering what went on last night. She surely didn’t drink that much that she would forget this! As she turns fully to Ichabod, she sees him awake, looking at her.

“Uh, Crane, good morning. Um, what are we doing here?” she asked, obviously flummoxed.

A moment passed where he remained quiet, just studying her face. “You looked so peaceful, Lieutenant, that I dared not move you. And seeing as it was supposed to be a chilly night, I just decided…” his voice trailed off as he looked at her increasingly skeptical expression. “Very well, mea culpa. You did look very peaceful, and I just found myself wanting to remain close to you. My apologies, Lieutenant, for not respecting boundaries,” he continued, trying to look as sheepish as possible. Of course, she could read him like a book, so she was not buying it, but she simply cocked an eyebrow and sighed, a slight smile playing on her lips.

“Yes, Crane, boundaries, but I guess in light of everything that’s been going on, I don’t really blame you. That is, if you make it up to me,” she added, a mischievous glimmer lighting her beautiful eyes.

Crane smiled broadly, mirroring her mischievous tone. “Pray tell, fair lady, what will my penance be?”

Abbie looked up as if considering her response. “Hmmm, let me see, I think perhaps… waffles with maple syrup and breakfast casserole?”

“Anything for milady’s pleasure,” Crane replied, looking deeply into Abbie’s eyes. “I will return anon.”

With that, they untangled their limbs from one another, and Ichabod headed for the kitchen while Abbie folded the blanket and gathered up the previous night’s paper plates, discarded pizza boxes, and empty beer bottles.

They worked in relative silence, both lost in their own thoughts, but comfortable still in each other’s presence. While she took care of cleaning up from the previous night, he busied himself with scrambling the eggs, cooking the sausage and chopped vegetables, and mixing the waffle batter. A short time later, they sat at the dining room table enjoying their meal.

“This is delicious as usual, Crane. You really missed your calling,” she said between bites of fluffy casserole and perfectly griddled waffles.

Ichabod hummed his approval and replied, “I’m glad you enjoy it. You always do so much for me, any small token I can show of my esteem and appreciation is my greatest pleasure.”

Abbie smiled slightly at her roommate and best friend. They had been through so much together, and although she would be lying if she didn’t admit to a little apprehension at what their newfound physical closeness meant, she decided to just go with it. Life was too short…

Over the next few weeks, they continued their routine of Abbie going to work at the FBI, meeting up with Crane at the Archives, and coming home for dinner and a game or two of chess. That routine also included the nightly 8:00 PM shoulder and backrub. It gave Ichabod great satisfaction to know that he was doing something concrete to help his beloved Lieutenant, and they both enjoyed the closeness and intimacy. One day, however, would change things dramatically.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a particularly difficult anniversary, our Witnesses become even closer.

It was a day they both dreaded. A day that changed the dynamic between the Witnesses and changed Ichabod’s life forever. But Abbie was determined to meet it head on and help her best friend through this difficult anniversary.

She woke up early, knowing that she would not be able to fall back asleep; she was too much on edge. Not only was it a day of unpleasant memories for Crane, but for her as well. Two years to the day that Ichabod made that fateful choice, leading to nine months of self-imposed exile. Nine months of heartache, loneliness, and disillusionment for Abbie. Then after a brief respite, a month (or ten, depending on whose perspective you’re looking at) in a place as soul-tearing and horrific as Purgatory. Several months of this newfound closeness between the Witnesses.

Because of all this, Abbie had requested the day off. She had plenty of days off since she was a total workaholic; she was able to take five days in a row. She just hoped she would not be dealing with emotional trauma the whole time. She hoped that she and Crane could create some new, pleasant memories at some point.

It wasn’t a good sign that Crane was not yet stirring. Usually he was up even before she was, making the morning coffee or cappuccino that she started drinking again (after a long detox in the Catacombs, and then later upon returning home). She finally peeked into his room (he usually left his bedroom door slightly ajar) and saw him laying facing the far wall. She couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. She decided she was going to pamper him in the same way he had pampered her after her long stay in the Catacombs.

She jumped in the shower, and seeing Crane was still in bed, she drove down the street to his favorite donut shop. There she got a dozen donuts, including his new favorite, bacon maple bourbon, and of course, a large package of donut holes. When she got back, Crane still hadn’t roused, so she became even more concerned. She went upstairs and changed into a pair of running shorts and t-shirt and went downstairs to prepare their breakfast.

Coffee made, donuts arranged artfully on the tray, and fluffy scrambled eggs with Cheddar and bacon, just the way he liked them. A bowl of fresh cut fruit rounded out the meal, along with freshly squeezed orange juice. She was very concerned at this point because there was still no sign of life in her friend’s room, although it was close to 10:30. She didn’t like to invade his privacy, but she was going to make an exception today. Today, all bets were off.

Quietly, she tapped on the door.

“Crane, are you awake?” she asked softly, pushing the door open slightly, her hands full of their breakfast.

“Come in, Lieutenant,” he replied. She was sure he had not been asleep.

Slowly, he turned to her. She saw the sadness on his face replaced with a slight smile.

“What have we here? This is a new look for you, Lieutenant. Of all your admirable qualities, I didn’t think ‘domestic goddess’ was your forte,” he said teasingly, his smile widening.

Returning his smile, she entered the room, turning on the light and putting the tray on the table next to the bed.

“Well, are you going to lay abed all day, or are you going to get up and at ‘em?” she teased.

Shifting his head on the pillow, he considered her for a moment. “I was thinking that today would be a good day to stay in.”

Well, Abbie thought, he’s not going to make this easy.

“Okay, then, scoot over, partner,” she said, motioning for him to move to the other side of the bed. He complied, arching an eyebrow and folding back the covers for her to slide in next to him.

“Miss Mills, you do realize this is highly inappropriate, for an unmarried woman to crawl into bed with a man?” he asked archly, a smile in his voice.

“Oh, Crane, I trust you. I’m sure you can restrain your raging animal instincts,” she teased.

“Are you so sure, Abbie?” he replied softly, giving her a strange look. She finally had to look away from the intense look that he was giving her. Maybe she WAS playing with fire…

“Crane, if I can trust you with my life on a daily basis, do you not think I would trust you with my person for a few hours?”

Nodding slightly, Ichabod smiled, turning on his side and leaning on his elbow. 

“So, what culinary delights have you prepared us today?” he quipped, peering over her, fixing his eyes on the wrapper from his favorite donut shop. 

Abbie placed the tray in the middle of the bed, and they turned on the television, fired up Netflix, and chose a 1980’s cop show – her favorite, which was Columbo.

After eating a leisurely breakfast and having gotten through a couple of episodes, Abbie took the tray back to the kitchen, leaving the donuts and bringing back two cups of hot tea.

Crane turned to her, watching her silently as she sipped her tea.

“You take very good care of me, Lieutenant. Although I have said it many times, it bears repeating how fortunate I feel to have you in my life,” he said, reaching out and taking her free hand. “I take it you have the day off?”

Abbie squeezed his hand and set her cup down, turning fully towards him.

“Yes, I actually have the next five days off, so I figured we could do something fun, maybe take a day trip or something, or just hang around the house and be lazy,” she added, a smile in her voice.

Crane smiled at her teasing tone, and propped himself up on an elbow. “I would never take you for an idle woman; you are always a whirlwind of energy and vitality, but even whirlwinds must sometimes regenerate themselves. You are more than entitled, Abbie.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. I just wanted for us to spend some quality time, as it were. We always seem to be chasing after monsters, dealing with red tape and bureaucracies, or doing something other than relaxing, so enjoy, my friend!”

They both turned and rested against their respective pillows, losing themselves in Peter Falk’s humorous, yet passionate rendition of a modern detective. Finally, Abbie looked over and noticed the faraway look in Ichabod’s eyes.

“Penny for your thoughts, Crane,” she said. “Are you okay?” She reached over and briefly rested her hand on his shoulder.

Ichabod sighed and reached for her hand, brushing his fingers across her knuckles.

“Just thinking, Lieutenant, just thinking,” he replied rather morosely.

Abbie considered him for a few long minutes, and nodding to herself, she asked, “Crane, where are your comb and hairbrush?”

Somewhat puzzled, Ichabod pointed to his dresser. Silently, Abbie crossed to the dresser, retrieved the grooming tools, and got back in bed. She first piled up several pillows against the headboard and sat down, giving her a little height, and gestured for Ichabod to come sit between her legs.

Ichabod looked at her, then down at where she was pointing, then back at her face. Even though he was much more accustomed to 21st century mores and customs, sitting between his Lieutenant’s BARE thighs (the running shorts left very, very little to the imagination, coming barely over her buttocks), and in his bed?

Abbie saw the varied emotions flickering across his face. “Crane, I won’t bite. It’s just something I remember as a child that was soothing and comforting to me. When I had a bad dream, or if I was unhappy for whatever reason, Mama would sit me down and comb and brush my hair.”

Realizing that Abbie was sharing something so personal and sentimental filled him with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. But he smiled at her and moved to right in front of her. Slowly, she first combed his hair, getting out all the night’s tangles, then softly brushed his hair, humming a sweet melody that her mother probably sang to her as a child. This only made him love his Abbie all the more; for all her toughness and acerbic humor, on the inside she was pure gold.

After combing and brushing his hair until it was soft and silky, she put down the comb and brush and began slowly massaging his temples. By this time, Ichabod was in a state of sheer bliss. He felt her warmth at his back and sides, and the sensation her ministrations engendered was just this side of Paradise. He leaned back into her, his head and back resting against her as she continued caressing his forehead and cheekbones, still humming softly. What he wouldn’t do to remain like this forever. He found his thoughts straying, however, to less than wholesome thoughts. He fought them so as to not disrespect this wonderful woman who was so gently caring for him, but although the spirit was willing, his flesh was oh so weak…


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get very heated between the two Witnesses.

As Ichabod lay there in Abbie’s half embrace, he felt another part of him stirring. As he still had on his nightshirt (which was scandalous in and of itself), he had slid down in the bed so he was half reclining against Abbie’s front. In doing so, his nightshirt, being a very soft linen, slid further and further up his thigh. As he lay there with one knee propped up and the other in front of him, he felt Abbie stiffen.

“Uh, Crane,” she stuttered, “um, maybe you should pull your shirt down a bit, or maybe sit up some…?” she said.

Ichabod looked down and realized the shirt had slid up enough that, from their vantage point, the tip of his not-so-flaccid penis was exposed. 

Quickly, he sat up, flushing slightly. “Miss Mills, I am terribly sorry. That is totally unacceptable, and my apologies for this affront to a young lady such as yourself.”

Abbie laughed, also somewhat flushed, but trying to take it in stride. “No problem, Crane. No harm, no foul. It could happen to the best of us,” she joked.

Crane turned to her and smirked slightly, cocking an eyebrow in her direction. “Well, it is something that definitely would not happen to you,” he said, skimming his gaze over her scantily-clad body.

Flushing even deeper, Abbie caught his meaning. She was not going to let him get away that, that’s for sure. She could give as good as she could get. It came from years of working in a male-dominated environment; nothing was sacred in the “boys’ club.”

“We’re being funny, huh? Well then, if what I saw is any indication, I now believe that centaurs exist; you obviously are part man, part horse,” she quipped.

Turning fully to Abbie, kneeling between her legs as he looked into her eyes, he leaned closer, with a look on his face that she had never seen but was sure meant trouble. Although he was usually a total gentleman, Ichabod could only be pushed so far.

He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. “Why, Miss Mills, I’ll have you know that, in my previous life, my paramours often referred to me as their stallion. And,” he continued, his voice dropping to a deep rumble as he looked her in the eye, “they always loved to ride me hard.”

Abbie didn’t quite know what to make of this Crane when he appeared, which, thankfully, was not often. He was her friend, her confidant, her partner, but there were times when the undercurrent became a full-fledged undertow, threatening to pull her under and drown her in a sea of lust and desire. This was one of those moments. As her eyes widened in shock and images came unbidden to her mind, she focused on the intense look in his eyes. This was not teasing. This was seduction. And it just might be working.

Abbie couldn’t find words. All she could do was sit there with her mouth hanging open, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Did he really just say that? Did we really go there, Crane? Her mind was racing as she was attempting to forestall the images of her bouncing up and down on the offending appendage. As if he could read her mind, Ichabod leaned in even closer, his nose ghosting against her cheek.

“Abbie, what are you thinking?” he said quietly. “Tell me, Treasure.”

The tone of his voice, his words, and his closeness, here in his bed, surrounded by his scent, were almost too much to bear. She had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that she and Crane had an intense attraction that they had fought for some time, and they had been either unwilling or unable to act upon it. At first, it was the existence of his wife, but after she had gone, there were still other barriers. They valued their work relationship and friendship, and neither wanted to allow a romantic entanglement gone awry to potentially threaten it, particularly when there were world-ending forces at play. 

Abbie scoffed, hoping to hide her emotions. “Really, Crane, you really went there? What happened to Mr. Uptight 18th Century Gentleman?”

In response, Ichabod traced a finger up her bare thigh. “Even in my day, Abbie, men and women were the same as today. We still had wants, and needs, and desires. We still made love.” He leaned in even closer and nuzzled her hair with his nose, inhaling deeply. “We still fucked.”

She could not believe what she was hearing. Mr. Ichabod Crane actually said the “f” word? And in context? What the hell did they put in those donut holes? All she could do was stare at him. What was he thinking?

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Crane asked teasingly, still tracing his finger up and down her leg. “Cat got your tongue? I’m sure we can find much better uses for it than that.”

Abbie leaned back and looked him straight in the eye, feeling her cheeks burning as she digested his words.

Smirking, Ichabod continued. “I finally found something to render you speechless. I shall have to remember that.”

Abbie was furious. He had really gone too far. She didn’t know what had gotten into him, but she wasn’t taking it.

“Look, Crane, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is really too much. Really? I make you a nice breakfast, get your favorite donuts, comb and brush your hair, and you’re going to act crazy? What the hell?” she exclaimed, waving her arms at this point.

Ichabod realized he HAD gone too far this time. His Abbie rarely got THIS mad at him; oh, she might pretend to be angry with him, but the twinkle in her eye belied her outrage. This, however, was real. What was he thinking? Using profanity and practically foisting himself on his friend, who was just trying to make him feel better? Was he that out of control?

He tried to stammer an apology, but Abbie clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting him off midstream.

“No. Just no. You’re not getting out of it that easy this time. It’s time to put up or shut up, Crane. Choose.” It was hard to look too tough considering their respective states of undress, as well as their considerable states of arousal, but she was going to try. Ichabod still had not moved from between her thighs, which made it a little harder to maneuver. Or to think. Still, she glared at him with everything she had.

Ichabod looked at his tiny goddess. He loved it when she was this way: her beautiful bronze skin, which seemed to glow from the inside, was flushed with anger and desire, her eyes were gleaming, and her luscious mouth was set firm. 

“I choose to put up,” he said finally, grabbing her and switching positions so he was seated and she was straddling him. He grabbed the back of her head, bringing her lips to his open mouth, suffocating any protest. As soon as their lips touched, they both let out a groan and as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, all pretense was gone; he could feel her trembling with desire. It took everything within him to slow down so as to not explode before they even started.

Abbie felt the shift from his open-mouthed, blatantly sensual kiss to a softer, teasing, seductive tasting of her lips. She always thought he had such pretty lips, mostly hidden beneath his prominent facial hair, but he was definitely putting those lips to good use. Soft and firm, tasting of sweet fruit, they were mesmerizing. She could lose herself in those lips alone.

But while his lips were roaming hers, nipping and licking her soft, plump lips, the rest of him was by no means static. His hands, those beautiful, elegant, almost pornographically sensual hands, were busy exploring her rounded curves. As his lips trailed down to nibble at her chin, then her smooth, bronze neck, his hands cupped her rounded bottom. How many days had he fantasized about those two plump spheres? From the first day he met her, he was astounded at the scandalous mode of dress in this century. He could see why women in his day could not wear trousers; the birth rate would have skyrocketed!

He squeezed his Lieutenant’s bottom, running his hands around the two well-defined, firm globes, up her sides to her tiny waist, then up to the heavenly orbs that were her breasts. He could tell through her thin cotton shirt that she wore no binder or undergarment; the twin peaks lovingly sought out his hands as if made for them. Ichabod could not help the moans of desire issuing from his lips any more than Abbie could stifle the sighs and whimpers accompanying Ichabod’s attentions. From his bold words to his even bolder caresses, she felt like she was drowning in a sea of ecstasy. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her hands roaming through his silky brown hair, she felt a completeness she had never felt before. Was this Witness magic, or something more?

Just then, they heard the front door opening and Jenny calling out to them. What was she doing here? She usually didn’t just pop in.

“Hey, guys, where are you?” Jenny called out.

The two Witnesses hastily separated from each other, Crane flushing deeply and clutching the pillow to cover his protruding member, with Abbie cursing her cock-blocking sister. Of all the times Jenny had teased her about Crane and getting busy with him, the one time she almost gets lucky, who decides to show up?

After they gravitated to opposite sides of the bed and resumed Netflix, Abbie called out, “In here, Jen!”

Jenny poked her head in Crane’s bedroom door, her eyebrows saying it all.

“Okay…” She drew out the word, shock evident in her voice. “Do I even dare ask what you two are doing in your nightclothes in Crane’s bed in the middle of the day? And sis, you texted me you had the day off, but damn. Does Danny know about this?” she added.

Crane’s already flushed face took on a decidedly greenish tone at the mention of Abbie’s boss-cum-paramour. Abbie glared at her sister, mouth hanging open.

“No, you did not just go there. You did. Let me tell you something, Danny is my boss and friend, and nothing more. Why would he be the least interested in what I am doing on my day off?” Abbie continued.

For her troubles, she was rewarded with a sly smirk. “Okay, sis, whatever you say, just business, blah blah blah. I’ll drop it if you tell me just what the hell is going on here.”

Ichabod decided he would let Miss Mills handle this one, Miss Jenny being her sister and all. “Coward,” he thought to himself. “I should just tell her the truth, that Miss Mills is showing compassion to her friend on the anniversary of a very difficult situation.” Instead, he looked at Abbie, who was looking at him in return.

“Well, this is a difficult anniversary for us, and so we decided we would make new memories, one donut at a time,” Abbie explained.

Jenny looked at her, then Crane, who had yet to meet her eyes, skeptically. Still, she realized it was a tough day for both of them, so she let it drop.

“Yeah, Icky, I’m sorry. I’m just giving you a hard time. I don’t mean anything by it, either one of you,” she said, concern and compassion showing plainly on her pretty face. “I just came by to say ‘hi.’ I remembered what day it was, too.”

Smiling, Jenny winked at Abbie, who returned her smile, while the tension on Ichabod’s face relaxed slightly.

“Say, I can see I’m a third wheel here; it looks like you guys are just chilling out, which is the best thing to do on a day like today. Lord knows you two have earned it,” Jenny added. “Anyway, I just wanted to bring you guys some donuts. I know how much the Mister here enjoys them, so I thought it might pick up your spirits a little bit.”

Crane smiled up at Jenny, his embarrassment forgotten for a moment, as he took in her sincere smile. She was like the little sister he never had, and he loved her dearly.

“Thank you, Miss Jenny, that is most thoughtful of you. Pray tell, what varieties have you brought today to whet our appetites?” 

After going through the exotic assortment of pastries she had brought, Jenny excused herself to the living room as they got themselves together. Abbie came out first and sat next to her sister on the couch, while Ichabod followed a few minutes later, having fully dressed.

They sat chatting for some time, discussing everything from the upcoming presidential elections to who the best cook in the extended Crane-Mills-Corbin family was. They quickly decided it was not Abbie, who playfully swatted and fussed at her sister and best friend. Later in the day, they ordered Chinese food and cracked open a new Chinese beer they had saved for the occasion. At the end of the day, Jenny bid them a fond farewell, admonishing them not to do anything she wouldn’t do, earning her a resounding smack on the rear by her sister. Hugs were given with promises to get together over the weekend, and then silence.

Abbie and Ichabod both knew that if Jenny had not come in, they would have been, in modern British terminology, shagging by now. They both were wondering what to say at that point, since the cat was definitely out of the bag. Finally, they looked at each other.

“Stallion, Crane? Really?” Abbie finally said, wearing a huge grin. “Can’t you be more original than that?” she teased.

Ichabod leered comically at her. “Now you know my secret, I shall have to find some way to silence you,” he added in a mock sinister voice. “And the way to do that is…” he trailed off, slowly ambling towards Abbie, his eyes never leaving hers, a big smile on his face. All of a sudden, he lunged towards her, grabbing her around the waist, and tickling her.

“Crane, I told you I would shoot you if you ever tried that,” she squealed in mock consternation, in between the most precious giggles Ichabod had ever heard in his life, made all the more precious by the fact that he had never heard Abbie giggle in such a manner. He was glad he could elicit that response from his oh-so-serious partner.

Finally, Abbie extricated herself from Ichabod’s grasp, taking off running around the sofa, effectively putting it between them. She wasn’t counting on Crane’s quick reflexes and strength; before she knew what was happening, he had vaulted over the back of the sofa and grabbed her, pulling her in for a long sensual kiss.

As they parted from one another, their breathing rapid, pupils dilated and face flushed, Abbie looked up at Ichabod.

“We should probably not do that. We’re such good friends, and what we’re doing is so important; we can’t risk it, Crane,” Abbie said, her voice soft and tinged with melancholy.

Crane bowed slightly. “Of course, Lieutenant, as always, you speak truly and wisely. Your counsel and friendship, as well as your bravery in the face of evil, are matchless and of the utmost importance to me. To say nothing of your impeccable virtue and integrity. My sincerest apologies.”

Abbie looked at her partner skeptically. “Really, Crane? Seriously? We know each other better than that. You’re acting like I’m some sensitive, innocent debutante you sought to ravage. I’m a grown woman, Ichabod, and I know what I’m doing. I wanted to do that as much as you did. But our friendship and our mission have to be uppermost in our minds, and we can’t do anything that could risk that.”

Crane again inclined his head, trying not to let the intense disappointment show on his face. Although his words were sincere, his lovely Lieutenant lit a fire in his heart and his loins that no amount of logic could extinguish. Still, he would have to try. For Abbie’s sake. For the sake of their cause.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witnesses have to deal with their emotions, as well as another unwelcome interruption...

After the anniversary of Katrina’s death and their near miss, the Witnesses were more cautious with one another. They were still close, they still had their Friday night “sleepovers,” and they even still engaged in their daily eight o’clock self-flagellation, otherwise known as a massage. Still, they guarded their feelings such that no explicit innuendo was shared, no massaging under the clothing, or climbing into Ichabod’s bed. They settled into a safe, yet somewhat bland, existence.

It was difficult, though. Each one of them spent most nights thinking of the other, replaying over and over again those few, precious moments where they almost crossed the threshold from friends to lovers. It was hardest on Crane, with his eidetic memory, since he could remember every sigh, every moan, every caress in the minutest detail. 

It affected Abbie as well. She became short-tempered and moody. Although she hid it well, both Foster and Danny noticed.

“Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” Sophie quipped, a crooked smile gracing her pretty, freckled face. “Everything okay, Mills?”

Abbie had grown to like and respect the young agent; she could even see herself becoming friends with her. However, old habits die hard, and letting people in always ends in hurt. So best to not acknowledge it.

“Nah, Agent Foster, thanks for asking, I’m good,” Abbie replied nonchalantly.

Danny, of course, knew her better, and it was harder for her to hide it. She also knew he questioned her relationship with Crane, whether out of jealousy or a natural skepticism.

After calling her in for a debrief on a particularly difficult case, Danny leaned back in his chair, studying her intently.

“Something wrong, sir?” Abbie said finally, after beginning to get uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

“So we’re back to ‘sir’ now, are we, Abbs? Okay, fine. You’re a damn good agent, Mills, one of the best I’ve ever seen, but you’re not yourself lately. Everything is hunky dory now, but I want to make sure that whatever’s bothering you doesn’t start to affect your performance. I’m telling you that as your boss AND your friend,” he added, steepling his fingers as he leans back in his chair.

Abbie put on her best I’m-in-control-and-I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it face. Although she cared about Danny, she knew her feelings didn’t match the love that he had declared for her as she was coming back on the force, nor, if she is being honest, the feelings that she has for Crane, whatever they are. Still, she doesn’t want to hurt Danny.

“I appreciate it, sir. If there’s nothing else, I have to get these reports on your desk before I leave, don’t I?” she said with a slight smile.

Danny returned her smile and nodded. Abbie nodded back and left, Danny’s eyes following her as she went down the hall.

Her evening in the Archives with Crane was pretty much business as usual; they talked about a new book he was translating, as well as some inroads on an artifact they had come across not long ago. It was comfortable, even despite the simmering sexual tension that neither one of them wanted to address.

They continued on for a few weeks like this, amiable strangers, caught up in their own thoughts and not endeavoring to share those thoughts with the one person closest to them. This night, though, Ichabod was not having it.

“Miss Mills, you do realize we have talked about nothing of substance since the one day in my room, do you not?” he asked.

Abbie nodded. “I know, Crane, but we did talk about it briefly and agreed that we need to focus on our work and not personal situations. Danny and Foster and I are working on a really intense case right now, and I need to concentrate on that. Can you at least let me do that?” she added, an almost imperceptible plea in her voice.

Ichabod nodded his assent before continuing. Seemingly overcome by a sudden burst of emotion, he walked over to the high chair she was sitting on in front of a table strewn with documents. He leaned in with his hands on either side of her hips, moving to stand closer to her between her thighs.

Abbie’s eyes implored him to stop, but he persisted. 

“Abbie, I’ve been going out of my mind, thinking about you, about US. I know I could make you happy if you just gave me a chance. I so want to hold you and kiss you like we kissed that day in my bedroom. I want to feel you next to me, see your smile, the smile you reserve only for me, and hear your whispered sighs as I caress and kiss you,” he added, softly brushing his bearded cheek against her soft cheek. “Please give us a chance, Abbie,” he said, his voice dropping to that register she loved so much, the bass reverberating through her whole being.

“Oh, Crane,” she sighed into his lips as they moved from her cheek to her lips.

They deepened the kiss, lost in a world where only they existed. There were no monsters when they were like this. No jealous ex-boyfriends or clingy would-be girlfriends. Ichabod lifted his hands from the seat of his chair and gently cupped her face. Their kiss deepened until the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing and the light nipping and sucking noises of their increasingly passionate kisses. 

Their hands roamed over each other, hers cupping his face, running her fingers through his hair, or grabbing his waist or hips to pull him closer. His hands roamed over her face, down to her shoulders, then back to her hair, caressing the soft curls. His hands descend again, skimming past her shoulders to her full breasts barely covered from his lustful gaze, thanks to his superior height. 

He caressed her breasts through the thin cotton and skimpy bra, the kind he is always secretly glad that gets mixed up with his laundry. Finally, with a deep groan, Ichabod reaches up under her inner thighs, effortlessly lifts her, and deposits her on the table. This gives him even greater access to her luscious lips and spectacular body. He hurriedly starts to unbutton the top button of her jeans as she shrugs out of her leather jacket, neither one moving out of their kiss. As she unzips her tight skinny jeans, Ichabod starts to unbutton his trousers.

“What the hell is going on here?”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More truths are revealed.

Ichabod and Abbie jumped as if someone had thrown ice water on them. He hurriedly helped her off the table and turned briefly away from their guests, shielding both her and himself in their near state of undress. As they buttoned up their clothing, they turned, red-faced, to greet Agents Reynolds and Foster.

Agent Foster, for her part, handled the startling tableau pretty well; she knew from Mills’ absence something was up between her and Crane, if only for the reckless, out-of-character behavior Crane was exhibiting. What he DIDN’T say about his partner was as telling as what he DID say.

As for Agent Reynolds, he felt like someone had hit him with a ton of bricks. Oh, he had suspected for some time Crane’s infatuation, obsession even, with Abbie, from the dick measuring contests he seemed to engage Danny in each time they were around each other, to his ubiquitous presence whenever Abbie didn’t expressly ask him to give her and Danny some privacy. Still, to walk in and see his girl, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, being undressed by her totally platonic “roommate,” who just happened to look like he was trying to perform a tonsillectomy on her with just his mouth, well, it was too much.

“Sorry to disturb you since you are obviously in the midst of a very important case,” Danny drawled, his tone laced with venom, “but if we could have a moment with you, AGENT Mills, about OUR case, we would appreciate it.”

Abbie was absolutely humiliated. To have her ex-beau, who had already declared his love for her, and who happened to be her boss, come in with their colleague and find she and Crane sucking face and practically boning on the table, was mortifying. All she could do was meekly nod and try to keep her head up.

“Foster, Crane, I need a minute first. Abbs,” he continued, pointing to another part of the Archives.

When they were out of earshot, Danny unloaded on her. 

“Abbs, what the fuck was that? Hmmm? Your roomie? Really? How long have you been banging?”

Livid at his tone and disrespectful manner, Abbie countered angrily, “Wait a minute, are you talking to me as Agent Reynolds, or Danny? Because neither one has the right to either talk to me that way or pry into my business.”

All of a sudden, Danny’s face fell, and he looked like a man stricken. Oh, man, Abbie thought, this is a lot for him to process. He just not long ago tells me he loves me, and I can’t even say it back. And now this…

Softening her tone, Abbie reached out and gently touched Danny’s arm. “Danny, look, I’m sorry. Crane and I have always been close, but this is something new. I didn’t say anything because it’s still something we’re both trying to figure out. But I definitely don’t want to hurt you. I know that what we had has passed, and we work together now, but I still care for you. I’m sorry.”

Danny looked deep into her eyes, those beautiful chocolate eyes he had grown to love, and saw the care, concern, and hurt there.

“Look, I’m sorry, too, Abbs, for rolling up in here and going off on you like that. You’re right, we are co-workers now, and I just hope we can remain friends.” He paused for a moment, as if he were carefully considering his next words. 

“You love him, don’t you?” he said softly.

Abbie looked down, not really wanting to answer, but feeling like she owed him the truth. Finally, she looked up and looked him squarely in the eye.

“I honestly don’t know, Danny. I’m just really confused right now, trying to sort through so many different emotions. But I know I want to explore whatever it is we have. I wish I could tell you something different, but that’s honestly how I feel.”

Nodding and fixing a strained smile on his face, Danny put his hand on Abbie’s shoulder.

“I wish it were different, too, Abbs. You know I’ll always love you and be there for you. I just want you to be happy.”

Tears started to gather in her eyes, but Abbie blinked them away, reaching out to hug him.

“Thank you, Danny, thank you. I want the same for you, I really do.”

He held her close for a minute as if to memorize the smell of her hair and her skin one last time.

“Hey, we better get back in there before your boyfriend comes looking for us and tries challenging me to a duel or something,” Danny joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Abbie laughed, glad to see Danny dealing with it so well. 

“Um, yeah, he probably would,” she said, her tone light and teasing.

When they came back in, smiling, Ichabod was suspicious. What had she told him? Surely he was not okay with him stealing the woman he was at one point courting.

For her part, Agent Foster was really glad to see them back and in good spirits. They were shocked to see Mills and Crane in such a compromising position, and in public, too (Lord knows what went on in private if this was any indication). Crane wasn’t exactly the demonstrative sort, at least as far as she could tell, so seeing him going to town with her co-worker was hella strange (if a bit hot, if she were to be honest). Still, she knew Reynolds had a thing with Abbie, and he still had feelings for her. She was glad it at least didn’t seem like it was going to end in bloodshed.

Crane pulled himself up to his full height, the flush having left his cheeks, and clasping his hands behind his back, peered down his nose at Agent Reynolds.

“I hope all is well. My apologies. I hold Miss Mills in the highest regard and hope this does not reflect badly on her. I take full responsibility for putting her in this compromising position and assure you my intentions are honorable.”

Abbie went to his side and briefly touched his arm.

“We’re good, Crane, no worries. Right, Danny?” she prompted, looking hopefully at her boss-slash-former lover.

“Yeah, no problem, Crane, we’re all adults here. We did come unannounced. We’ll make sure to call ahead next time. Now back to business…”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made and futures are altered.

Agent Reynolds went on to detail a number of missing person cases that were popping up. He, Foster and Mills had been working on it, but there were puzzling notes left at the scene where each person was last seen; they seemed to be of some organic material. It didn’t take long for Crane to figure out, after touching and sniffing the material, that it was papyrus from the Nile Delta. 

It took a couple of days of intensive research for the team to figure out it was a resurrection cult, loosely based on ancient Egyptian lore, that was kidnapping, murdering, and attempting to resurrect the murdered individuals. After resolving the matter, Ichabod and Abbie found themselves with a few days’ much-needed downtime.

Unfortunately, their run-in with the cultists didn’t leave them unscathed, although they had fared far worse in the past. Abbie was quite colorful with multiple bruises from hand-to-hand combat, while Ichabod would have several new scars from near-misses in a particularly brutal knife fight. Thankfully, although there were certainly supernatural elements to the case, they were not required in this instance to battle otherworldly dark forces.

That night, Ichabod was uncharacteristically quiet. Abbie put it down to exhaustion; they had been logging twenty-plus hour days, often only returning home from the Archives to shower and grab snacks and a change of clothes. They had cots set up in the Archives from when Crane would stay there, and although not comfortable, they served the purpose.

After showering, changing into their loungewear, and propping their feet up on the coffee table while eating Indian takeout and beer, Abbie finally broached the subject.

“Okay, Crane, you want to tell me about it, whatever ‘it’ is?” she inquired gently.

Ichabod paused for a minute before turning to her.

“Lieutenant, perhaps we should discuss it when we have had a chance to rest,” he admonished, a slight frown forming between his eyebrows. “We are sleep-deprived and worn down, and this can wait until the morrow.”

Abbie studied him for a moment. Since Danny and Sophie had come across them in the Archives, there had not been any overt changes in Crane’s behavior, but she knew him well enough to notice the little things. He wasn’t as demonstrative, seemed withdrawn, and was uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, she couldn’t get him to shut up about either his Founding Father buddies or some piece of arcane knowledge he wished to impart. But these days, he seemed deep in thought. Definitely something was not right.

“Yeah, Crane, we are sleep-deprived, worn down, all that, but I also know something is bugging you. You and I will both feel better if we clear the air. I know I’ll sleep much better,” she added.

After a moment where he seemed to be trying to decide if he was going to say something or not, Ichabod turned to his friend.

“Very well, Lieutenant, as you wish. You asked me what was on my mind. We have not had a chance to discuss what occurred in the Archives, either our physical intimacy or your conversation with Agent Reynolds.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Master Reynolds did not seem at all put out, although I know that you both had a brief liaison at one time. I wonder what was said that he was so amicable after.”

Abbie sighed, turning away from Ichabod and leaning against the back of the sofa before turning back to face him.

“You remember when I told you Danny came to the house to offer me back my job?” she asked.

Ichabod nodded slightly. “Of course. I was very happy for you. It was a good first step in your recovery, resuming a normal routine.”

Abbie looked down briefly before looking back at Ichabod. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened that day.”

Ichabod reddened slightly, fidgeting and sliding slightly closer to Abbie. “And what, pray tell, happened that you did not tell me about?” Even as it was out of his mouth, he knew he was going to regret it. But he had to know the truth.

Abbie sighed again, deepening the frown on Ichabod’s face. 

“He told me he loved me,” she said finally.

The silence was deafening. Ichabod turned even redder, if that were possible. His hands began almost spasming in his lap.

“I see. And what was your reply, Lieutenant?” he finally asked, although it was clear from his tone that he probably was not going to like the response.

“I didn’t really say anything, at least nothing important. I definitely didn’t tell him I loved him. Because I don’t.” Hurriedly, she added, “But I am very fond of him, and we had good times together. I didn’t want to give him false hope where there was none.”

Ichabod’s hands stilled slightly, a faint glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes.

“You don’t love him, Abbie? Are you sure?” he asked.

Laughing, Abbie replied, “Yes, I’m sure, Crane.”

As quickly as the look of hope appeared on his face, it disappeared. “Then why did he seem so cheerful in the Archives, if you did not affirm your feelings for him?”

Abbie looked away briefly before returning his gaze. “I told him that there was something between us, and I wasn’t really sure what it was, or what it meant, but that I wanted to explore it further. And I told him I cared for him and just wanted him to be happy.” Chuckling softly, she continued, “And he said we better get back before my boyfriend challenged him to a duel.”

Ichabod chuckled in reply, looking down and peering up at Abbie through his long lashes.

“So I’m your boyfriend now, am I? Hmmm, I wonder what privileges go with that…” he trailed off, scooting closer to Abbie.

She giggled in reply, staving off the hands that seemed to be coming from everywhere.

“Good grief, I have to go and open my big mouth. And you, Mr. Octopus, you keep your hands to yourself or no Netflix and popcorn for you tonight!” she exclaimed, playfully fending off his encroaching hands.

“Oh, and I had so hoped for Netflix and chill this evening. Is that what we had planned, Miss Mills?” he added disingenuously, looking for all the world like an innocent schoolboy, although Abbie wasn’t fooled.

“Uh, Crane, you know very well what we do is not considered ‘Netflix and chill.’ You’ve read enough and watched enough television to know what that means,” she scolded, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Well, Lieutenant, far be it from me to do things in a slipshod manner, so if we are doing Netflix and chill inappropriately, I submit we honor our work ethic and integrity and fully dedicate ourselves to doing it properly,” he said, adopting his best supercilious tone.

Abbie just had to laugh. This guy, she thought, he just doesn’t quit. Okay, maybe I’ll humor him…

Ichabod, however, suddenly turned serious.

“Miss Mills, in all seriousness, why are we doing this?” he asked in an almost desperate tone of voice, catching both of her hands in his.

Abbie was a little taken aback by the sudden shift in tone and mood. What was really going on with him?

“Doing what, Crane? Whatever it is that’s bothering you, out with it. Stop beating around the bush and just say it.”

Ichabod was quiet for a moment, just studying her hands, smoothing his long, tapered fingers over her knuckles. Finally, he spoke.

“Abbie, every day we are met with some form of evil, be it the evil of deranged humans or evil of the supernatural kind. Each day is a gift, a blessing, which we must not squander.” Dropping to his knees in front of her, he continued with an intensity she rarely saw.

“Abbie, I have not been clear with you, either because the time was not right, or I was afraid, afraid of rejection, but I love you. Nay, I adore you with an intensity bordering on the idolatrous. I can think of nothing but you night and day, and if I should not live to see another day, I would be remiss in not admitting my feelings for you.”

He paused, looking hopefully at her face, trying desperately to read the emotions flickering through her lovely warm brown eyes.

“Crane, Ichabod, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what to say. I have feelings for you, I do, but… it’s just hard for me to say the words you want to hear. I’m sorry.” 

She looked away, obviously distressed, as Ichabod attempted to process her words.

“Abbie, I thought you felt the same way, Treasure. Do you not think of me often, with fondness?” he asked.

“I do,” she replied.

“Do you not feel a pull between us, an undeniable attraction?”

“I do.”

“Do you not sacrifice for me, lift me up when I am downtrodden, sustain me, and although I am ashamed to admit it, do more for me than you often do for yourself?”

“I do.”

Ichabod gripped her hands even harder as if willing her to open up her heart.

“Abbie, Treasure, look at me,” he said, desperation coarsening his voice.

Reluctantly, Abbie looked up and saw the pain, the love, the desire, and the hope in his pleading eyes.

“Please, Abbie, I beg of you, open up your heart whilst we still can, give us a chance, give ME a chance to love you. Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, least of all the Witnesses, who fight the good fight on a daily basis. Do we, do you not deserve some happiness in this life? Must we toil in despair and loneliness in this life when we have one another? When you have me, standing here before, pleading with you to let me show you the love and care you deserve?”

By this time, they both had tears in their eyes. Abbie had tried so hard to guard her heart from him, first because of his marriage to Katrina, but then he left, leaving her bereft, adrift in a sea of loneliness, anguish, and doubt. Would he return? If he did, would he stay, or would he be like the long list of people that drifted in and out of her life?

Slowly, she took one of the hands that held hers and placed it to her cheek, dampening it with her tears. Ichabod let out a harsh groan and pulled her into his arms as he sat next to her on the sofa, both of them still crying, with him holding her as if she were the most precious thing on earth. She WAS the most precious thing on earth to him, truth be told.

Abbie turned her face to Ichabod’s, and in it she saw the deep, abiding love he had for her. What she didn’t realize was that her face reflected the same depth of feeling as he gazed upon her. Ichabod smoothed her hair away from her face and gently kissed her. It was the gentlest, softest kiss she had ever experienced, but it meant more to her than any other man’s touch. She knew then that she had been lying to herself, that she was as in love with him as he was with her. She had been so afraid to love him for so long, for so many reasons, but none of those reasons seemed to matter anymore. All that mattered was the adoration beaming from those cerulean blue eyes she had come to love. Yes, to love.

"You’re right, Crane. You’re right,” she finally said, rising from the sofa, still holding his hand. “Why are we denying ourselves?”

Ichabod rose along with her, confusion mixed with hope on his handsome face.

“Abbie, what are you trying to say?”

She smiled at him, allowing him to see the full range of her emotions. He smiled in return, the most wondrous, elated smile she had ever seen.

“My love, please, talk to me, Abbie. Tell me what’s in your heart, Treasure,” he begged, wanting desperately to believe, but not until he heard the words…

“Ichabod, I’ve been lying to myself all this time. I was so afraid because I couldn’t bear losing you again. So I threw any eligible woman, like Zoe, in your path, I closed myself off, and I just chalked it up to our close living and working relationship, loneliness, anything but the truth. The truth is, I DO love you, and I have for a long time, and it’s so freeing to be able to say it, to own it…”

She wasn’t able to finish before Ichabod pulled her to him in a passionate kiss, holding her so tight her feet weren’t even touching the ground. She returned his kiss with matching ardor, both of them holding the other as if nothing else existed, nothing else mattered in the world.

Ichabod lifted Abbie fully off the ground and carried her to his room. There, he gently laid her on his bed while he briefly sat on the side of the bed, brushing the hair from her face as he smiled at her, letting all the love he had tried so hard to hide show.

He then got up and crossed to the door, closing it and closing them away from the rest of the world. 

That night, they made love throughout the night, at times sweet and tender, and at other times, passionate and fiery. She called him her Stallion, while he called her his sweetest Treasure, constantly reaffirming with word and touch their deep love and passion for one another. When finally they were sated, deep into the night, Abbie raised her head from Ichabod’s chest where it had been resting, and studied him in the dim moonlight. She never thought she would feel such happiness, such fulfillment. She REALLY never thought her 18th century roommate would have rocked her world. As she chuckled softly to herself, Ichabod opened one eye and peered down at her.

“Lieutenant, may I ask the source of your amusement?” he asked with a slight smile.

With that, Abbie broke into a full laugh. “I was just thinking I had no idea my time-traveling roomie had such game,” she retorted.

She felt as well as heard the rumble of laughter in his chest.

“Well, my dearest Miss Mills, if you had asked, I would have told you I have all kinds of game,” he said, adopting his most lofty and pedantic tone.

With that, they burst out laughing. When they stopped laughing, they looked at each other smiling and happy.

“Well, Captain Crane, since we’re back to formal names, have I told you in the last few minutes how much I love you?” she said coyly, tracing her fingernail on his chest.

Ichabod looked up as if considering the question. “Hmmm, I don’t know, Lieutenant Mills, but perhaps you should say it again, just to be sure.”

Abbie scoffed and poked him with her index finger. “Oh, you and your ego. Well, I’ll say it one more time, then. I love you, Ichabod Crane.”

Ichabod looked down at her for a few minutes without responding, just studying her face in the moonlight.

“I have been captivated by a goddess, and she fills my every thought. I love you more than life, Grace Abigail Mills, and if I had ten lifetimes, it would not be enough to show you the depth of my love for you.”

She laid her head back down on his chest, but he could feel her smile against his beating heart.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future. The TRUE ending to the Witnesses.

EPILOGUE

 

Frank Irving sat nervously with his wife, Cynthia, and their daughter, Macey, along with Abbie's sister, Jenny, and her boyfriend, Joe Corbin. Their friends Big Ash and Seamus stood nearby awaiting word.

Abigail Jennifer Crane was born August 18, 2021, two hundred seventy-two years to the day from her father’s birth. She was the first of three children that would be born to Ichabod and Grace Abigail Mills Crane. Like her mother, she had a headful of soft brown curls, but her length at birth seemed to indicate she might inherit some of her father’s height. When his daughter was placed into his arms, Ichabod had to fight back tears. Tears of joy. Of utter humility. Of thanksgiving. He and his beloved Abbie had survived the Tribulations. Although in the Bible it was foretold the Witnesses would perish, Orion, the fallen angel, came to them, having been reconciled with the Father, bearing the good news: because they chose to fight, in choosing sacrifice over simply bearing witness, their Heavenly Father had ordained that they should bear the fruits of their labor and faithfulness in this life as well as the next. As the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost were three, God would bless the Witnesses with three happy, healthy children, two sons and a daughter, and as He had promised Abraham, their descendants would be as stars in the sky.

Ichabod took their daughter over to his wife, his eternal love, and settled her in her arms. As she gazed down on their daughter’s beautiful face, Abbie reached out a hand to her husband and touched his face; how hard they had fought, and how much had they suffered, but she knew that, come what may, they would face it together. For the first time, the couple breathed a true sigh of relief and focused their minds on simply LIVING.


End file.
